Faded Impressions
by ChewyKookie
Summary: His thumb brushed along the scars on her flesh, curious. "Victories," she supplies. She traced the scars billowing across his spine, questioning. "Reminders," he says in return. Levi/Mikasa drabble; Prompt: Good Fortune; Gambling


**Here's another one from tumblr, but this one's also waaay shorter than the others, more or less a drabble because to be honest I was a little stumped when writing for this prompt haha I hope you guys enjoy it! ^_^**

_**Rivamika Week, Day 3: Apple Blossoms**_

_**Prompt: **__**Good Fortune**__**- Acknowledging that even their worst qualities are blessings in disguise; Gambling, literally or metaphorically, under favorable odds**_

_**Summary: His thumb brushed along the scars on her flesh, curious. "Victories," she supplies. She traced the scars billowing across his spine, questioning. "Reminders," he says in return.**_

They had never been strangers to tragedy, but they had grown and conquered, living somewhere between being haunted and fully alive.

They had never truly minded the wounds scattered across their bodies, for casualties and consequences were common occurrences for them. They had long since realized that pain eased away, but experience remained- that even the blackest bruises faded, but scars never healed. It was perhaps why they were so fascinated by those etchings carved along their bodies, because it was bittersweet and raw, but also tender and relieving.

The days were always harsh to them, sullied by blood and war and a tiring fight against something that had plagued humanity for a century. Always revolving around a swish of blades and an everlasting duel. It was only at night that their walls crumbled away, masks peeling away as buttons came undone and straps unbuckled one by one. Frustrations would be released and worries shed away, until there was nothing but raw power and a simple existence burning within their hearts.

Occasionally, after they had tousled and merged beneath silken sheets, they would lay there and simply enjoy one anothers' warmth, oddly sated and content. He would drag his fingers across her skin- skin that, just like his, had been continuously blotched in blacks and blues; perhaps also with a few unseen wounds that never truly mended with time. It had always intrigued him how soft her alabaster surface was, even as pale impressions skittered across her planes.

His thumb brushed along the scars on her flesh, gaze curious. "_Victories_," she supplied, eyelids lidded under his gentle ministrations. Because to her they were a string of stories marring her skin, markers of battles won and shadows of the people she loved. They were proof that she was a survivor and a warrior behind her human exterior. _Faint memories_, she would think as he skimmed over the wraps against her wrist, ones she had kept as a sacred remembrance. He'd almost smirked at her answer- because it was just so _her_ to think of them in such a way- before she turned and hovered above him. Hesitantly her hand touched his back,as if asking silent permission, and he complied as he rolled onto his front to expose himself to her gaze.

She traced the scars billowing across his spine- '_almost like wings_,' she'd said once, and he had scoffed at the irony of her words- her grey eyes questioning. _"Reminders," _he said in return, because to him they were a sign of past mistakes and regrets, to remind him of what he lost but also of what he fought for every single day. He would learn lessons from the blemishes decorating his flesh, and he would break himself over and over again until he could not bleed-until those teachings faded and all that was left was strength.

"_There are so many,"_ she observed, though there was no disgust in her voice and instead bit of wonder. She'd always admired the raw might coiled beneath his muscle, steady and firm yet always humming with power. Feather-light fingers outlined the carvings in his skin, smiling softly as he shuddered at the sensation. _"Do they bother you?"_

"_No,"_ he scoffed, watching her eyes glimmer almost silver in the dim light, _"they're simply marks of experience._" at her confused glance he elaborated, _"Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes, and mistakes are what make us wiser."_ It had been something he had heard when he'd been very young,and the words had only grown truer with age. He suddenly shifted, moving forward to drag his own hand against her form, _"Do yours?"_

"_No, they're just battle wounds."_ She shrugged before laying down and pressing herself closer into his side, sighing contently. _"I'm still alive, aren't I?"_ she smirked, faintly amused, and he hummed in consent. The two would lay there in comfortable silence until the world seeped away and they'd drifted to a light slumber.

Scars never healed, but they reminded them of close calls and brushes with death- that despite all odds, they were still living and fighting and _breathing_. Their lives were a gamble, but nothing gained without risk. Their reality was morbid and dark, but it was their duty to preserve a bit of light.

It was the reason why they had never been ashamed of their flesh, why silver marks and faded streaks never bothered them in the slightest. Because they were humanity's strongest- it was their own burden to bear, though a title they were proud of- and thus humanity's hope for a brighter tomorrow.

**There you go, short and sweet (kinda lol). Hope you guys liked it! Reviews are appreciated! :)**


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